


Fire and Feathers

by Teumessian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teumessian/pseuds/Teumessian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Castiel saves Dean from a close call on a hunt, certain repressed feelings are brought to light and limits are reached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I just had to get this one out of my system. Love this show, love this pairing, love this kink. Expect to see more of these lovely boys from me. This was beta-ed by my amazing friend and spn buddy Krista! Enjoy! Read and review. Always love to hear your thoughts =]

The first time Dean saw Castiel’s wings was an accident—sort of. It wasn’t Dean’s fault that he didn’t realize just because the arsonist ghost-bitch died in one of her own fires she’d be able to conjure up some spectral flamethrower and freaking torch him. Okay, so the ghost was strong enough to move itself all over town so maybe he should have seen it coming but as it was so frequently pointed out to him, he was only human.

He and Sam had split up to find a lighter the fire-freak had bled on and apparently latched her damned soul to. After hours of searching through the girl’s favorite old haunts Castiel had appeared, nearly scaring the piss out of Dean in the process. After a few choice curse words and a colorful question, the angel explained that he heard Dean praying.

“Just because I say the words ‘Dear god’ before I complain about some little arsonist’s ability to ditch her possessions into the goddamn abyss doesn’t mean I’m actually praying,” Dean said flatly.

Cas had merely stared at him for a moment.

“Well… if you don’t have any need of my assistance,” Cas said simply.

The angel then paused in the way he usually did before disappearing into thin air.

“W-wait, Cas!” Dean stopped him and swallowed his pride.

I mean Cas was already here.

“Look, the ghost is tethered to a lighter and we can’t find it,” Dean explained.

With the angel’s help, it didn’t take them long to end up in a field just outside of town. The lighter was stowed in a rundown shack where the arsonist had kept some of her possessions. It was going great until the fire-bitch found them. The whole shack had nearly blown to the ground, like a mini tornado had appeared out of nowhere, and Dean quickly evacuated, trying to figure out the quickest way to burn a lighter. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Dean figured he would try to pump the thing full of bullets to slow her down enough to give him time to burn it.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance, because that’s when the damn flame thrower came into play. It had most definitely not been factored into his plans.

“ _DEAN!_ ”

The call was the only warning he got. Castiel was near the remains of the shed where Dean had told him to distract the thing with a tire iron, but apparently it didn’t need to go far to get to Dean.

The flash burned his eyes and Dean felt the heat on his face before he could even think about reacting. He managed to pull a gasp from the air and start to throw his hands up, but he knew it was too late.

But then there was another sound besides the roar of fire. It was a woosh of feathers and suddenly it wasn’t flames in front of him but a familiar face and the less familiar shape of… wings, he realized just before they closed around him completely.

In those quick second he felt arms come around his shoulders to anchor a body in place and a bowed head pressed against his temple. He couldn’t see but he could definitely feel the force of the newly apparent limbs pushing in on him; he could feel feathers brushing his neck, cool and smooth. He could also hear the pained grunt directly into his ear and the muffled but audible sound of devouring fire.

“Cas!?” he exclaimed, some sort of emotion flooding his system that surprisingly had nothing to do with the fact that he had nearly been barbequed.

“The lighter, Dean,” the angel said through gritted teeth and Dean berated himself.

The wings loosened enough so Dean could throw the lighter on the ground between their feet, pull out his reliable handgun, and blow two neat holes in the rusty zippo.

The roar of flames stopped and Dean quickly pulled the accelerant out of his pocket and drenched the damn thing in it before dropping a matchbook over the top. There was a wail and a burst of heat, mostly blocked out by the shadow above him. Then it was over.

When Dean looked up it was just Cas standing above him, featherless but still fierce.

 

Dean didn’t know what it was about this time—he hadn’t taken issue with Castiel saving him in the past. No, usually it was a welcome, and he would admit regular, occurrence in his life. He was almost getting used to falling to the ground and looking up to see a demon ganked Angel of the Lord style, face leaking the light of Heaven.

This was different, though. Cas had put himself in the immediate and direct line of fire to save Dean. He knew rebelling against Heaven was pretty thoroughly throwing yourself in the line of fire but Dean had always been one to see in the moment instead of the long run and it was far more real when played out right in front of his eyes like that.

Plus Cas was changing. It was becoming more and more apparent with each appearance of the angel that he was slowly but surely losing his mojo. He’d never been invincible but he was getting more and more vulnerable, Dean knew it.

Then there was that night before they’d set themselves an angel trap and Dean had the brilliant idea to educate Castiel on the finer things life on Earth had to offer. It had been pretty hilarious to watch the angel squirm in discomfort at the ‘den of iniquity’ as he’d called it, but it had been a million times better when the plan had failed. In the alley with Cas, laughing, leaning on each other, Dean felt better than he could remember feeling since he was a kid. He was so high off it he got no less than an inch away from grabbing the angel by his lapels, pushing him up against the impala and laying one on him.

It was safe to say that the realization was a little bit of a shock to Dean, nor was it a passing euphoric interest. The awareness of Cas had only grown since then, and recently Dean had admitted to himself that he very much wanted to fuck the living daylights out of his friend the angel.

For about the millionth time Dean realized his life was abso-fucking-lutely insane, simple as that.

So it wasn’t really that surprising when the conversation took the turn it did back at the hotel.

Sam had headed off to check in with Bobby and pick up a couple things after he finished yelling at Dean for not calling him when he and Cas found the lighter. Dean hadn’t been very responsive, buried deep in a sulk that ended the conversation with a few strange looks from Sam.

Cas had returned to the motel with them. Apparently his schedule was a little less rigid now that heaven wasn’t holding his leash. This conjured up some really interesting images involving Castiel and collars that very thoroughly made Dean want to slam his head into table top. This was a problem.

Dean fumed silently, but unlike most people, silence didn’t bother Castiel, so it was Dean who finally broke. He stood and crossed to the mini fridge, pulling out a beer before slamming the door and crossing back to where he’d been definitely-not-moping in the cheap motel chair. That at least seemed to get Castiel’s attention.

“You’re upset,” Cas said observationally.

Dean set his beer down on the table hard enough that it left a little crescent dent in the cheap wood and then stood.

“What the hell kind of stunt do you think you were pulling today?” Dean spat.

Castiel’s brow furrowed and, dear god, the things it did to Dean when Cas looked so innocent like that would land him right back in Hell.

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Cas asked.

Dean gesticulated wildly and he was probably being irrational but he didn’t give two fucks about that.

“What you did when that inferno bitch tried to torch me! You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Cas was looking at him like he was crazy—the probability that it was true had nothing to do with anything.

“Dean, the flames would have killed _you_ , not me. It was simply the only way to stop you from being mortally wounded,” Cas explained, and there was something sad in his eyes when he said mortal, like he was the worried one.

Dean’s face reddened but he could dodge logic for a while longer.

“You—you could have broke your wings! I saw them…” Dean said, getting a little distracted by the memory and distantly realizing he was too sober to be sounding this stupid. “I heard you! You were in pain.”

Cas just continued to look at him with those deep, ocean eyes, taking a couple steps closer, entering Dean’s personal space in a way that had caused him to complain for some very different reasons lately than he did when they first met.

“Yes,” Castiel said honestly, as he always did, still missing the point. “But my wings are strong, Dean. They will be fine.”

Left with no reasonable arguing points, Dean flailed in his mind for a moment, mouth opening and closing uselessly, because without the thin veil he’d thrown over it, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d been scared for Castiel’s life today—and yesterday, and the day before that and it didn’t seem to be going away any time soon. Finally, Dean stilled and scowled, holding Cas’ eyes. Not that he’d ever win a staring contest with Cas, but that was hardly the point. It was a battle in his brain but finally something snapped and one last, singular thought passed distinctly through Dean’s head.

_Oh, fuck it._

One hand came up to fist in Castiel’s trench coat like he’d wanted to on that first night outside the whorehouse, and the other hooked right around the nape of the angel’s neck and then he crushed their lips together. It was nearly hard enough to bruise but Dean didn’t care because all he could think was _thank mother-fucking Mary mother of Jesus **YES.**_

It was probably frowned upon to even think such blasphemies while working your lips insistently over those of an Angel of the Lord but Dean had long since cashed in ability to care.

Cas had made a surprised noise his hands had come up to clutch Dean’s arms in reflex. As impatient as ever, Dean drew his tongue over Castiel’s bottom lip, feeling the hot swoop in his stomach when the angel’s lips parted with a sharp intake of break.

“Dean!” Castiel said, confused, leaning his head back to make eye contact but not moving away. “Wh-what are you doing?”

For his part Dean twisted his hands in the dark strands of hair on the back of Cas’ head and dropped a hand down to the angel’s hip. There would be no confusion as to Dean’s intentions today.

“I never kept my promise to you,” Dean said, images of stumbling through doors, unfamiliar wholehearted laughter stitching in his side flashed in his head and Dean gripped Castiel’s hip tighter, thumb firmly running along the bone.

A number of things seemed to make it out of the angel’s brain and onto his face—confusion, recognition, surprise mixed with disbelief, almost as if Dean wasn’t the only one who’d been tempted by possibilities that night.

Dean liked that. He liked that quite a bit. He looked at Cas through his eyelashes, slow, heavy smirk spreading on his face.

“It’s the apocalypse, you know,” Dean said teasingly, because this was so much easier than explaining the raw need that was clawing at his gut. “Any given night could be your last so…”

Castiel blinked at him, once, twice, eyes wide, before he seemed to finally come to some conclusion. Then it was Dean who was attacked, arms pleasantly full of angel.

Their lips met and Dean didn’t hesitate to slip his tongue into the gloriously hot cavity, and apparently the years of watching humans weren’t completely wasted on the angel, Dean thought as Cas’ tongue twined with his. He was obviously experimenting but his eagerness more than made up for it in Dean’s book—just another way Cas was different. Dean was currently different’s biggest fan.

Dean groaned softly as he shifted the angle of their kiss so he could sink deeper, and if Dean didn’t know any better he’d say Cas tasted a little like apple cinnamon pie—or maybe he simply tasted as good. All Dean knew for sure was that he needed more.

He quickly disposed of the trench coat, then the jacket and dropped down to fasten his lips to Cas’ neck as he untucked the white button-up. Castiel rolled his head back to give Dean more access, and Dean could feel the rumble in Cas’ throat against his mouth and again he wanted more.

Castiel’s hands fluttered over Dean’s body, hindered by layers of clothing as if he didn’t quite know where to start, but Dean was too busy to help him out at the moment.

Dean pressed open mouthed kisses to the newly exposed flesh as he quickly unbuttoned Cas’ shirt, priding himself in his patience for not having just ripped it right open. Hands were quickly added to the mix as Dean’s fingers, already roughened once more despite Castiel’s careful detailing of his body when he’d raised him from hell, ran over Castiel’s upper body.

“Dean,” Cas breathed as Dean raked his teeth over the angel’s collarbone.

Encouraged by the reaction, Dean placed a few kisses over the area before nipping sharply, making Cas gasp and roll his hips forward into the empty air.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said once more, insistent this time, tugging on Dean’s own shirt.

When Dean looked up he was distracted by the requests in Cas’ eyes, asking for so much but not knowing how to phrase the questions. Well the first one was easy enough to figure out. Dean took pity on him and leaned back, yanking his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it and pulled the undershirt with it.

They were equal now and Cas hesitated a moment before he surged forward, imitating Dean’s earlier actions, sucking on a spot just below Dean’s ear that send a whole new surge of heat down into his gut and then Cas was running his hands all over Dean. His hand returned to the nape of Castiel’s neck, urging him on, as the angel’s lips and fingers moved over Dean’s skin. It was delicate and near reverent, tracing up his spine, over his ribs, into every swell and dip like he had already known them once but was remembering.

When Dean realized he probably did already know he groaned again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean cursed when Cas nibbled on the space where his neck met his shoulder.

When he glanced down he saw a mass of dark, messy hair and the pale expanse of Castiel’s back only broken by Dean’s own arm tight around his waist. Cas’ shoulder blades moved as his hands skipped over Dean’s body, never stopping. That brought up the sliver of a flash of memory from earlier that day. And suddenly Dean knew exactly what he wanted.

“Cas… Cas,” Dean tried to get his attention but the angel was currently completely focused on sucking a mark over Dean’s jugular vein so he felt it ever time his heart thudded in his chest.

Dean slid his hand further back into Cas’ hair, as his face turned to the ceiling, exposing his neck further, which he had to admit probably wasn’t very discouraging.

“ _Cas…!”_ he tried again, looking back down, “I want to see them.”

Finally, Cas seemed to hear him and he looked up at Dean, blue eyes wide and pupils blown, lips swollen and slick in a way that had to be criminal.

“What?” he asked.

“Your _wings_ ,” Dean said, shameless at the best of times but Cas was undoing him right now—how could he look so fucking _innocent_ and turn him on to the point of madness at the same time?

Cas blinked at him a couple times and seemed to go a little redder in the face.

“They’re… it’s private,” Cas stumbled.

Dean pressed a kiss to the corner of the angel’s mouth and then to his jaw.

“Please…? They did save my life today. I’d like to pay my respects,” Dean breathed into the pleasantly scratchy stubble on the angel’s cheek. “Please… Cas, I need…”

The last words gave away how lost he really was, but apparently that did the trick because Cas shuddered against him and then there was that familiar sound of fluttering feathers, except this time they were _visible._

They bloomed from the angel’s back, huge and regal, especially in the undersized motel room. Dean had a mild idea of their color from earlier today but the details had been lost—and that was a crying shame, because they were some of the most incredible things Dean had ever seen, and he’d seen some crazy shit.

They rose up behind Cas, still, but lightly shifting, alive. The soft but strong looking feathers varied in color from soft, downy grey at the base, where they emerged, poised, from his shoulder blades, to charcoal black, pitch blue and iridescent ebony at the tips.

“Dean?” Cas prompted when he didn’t move for an unusual amount of time.

“Holy hell…” Dean breathed as he began to move his hands up towards them; he had to feel them, touch them. “They’re beautiful…”

When his fingertips met the slate grey feathers along the ridge closest to him the angel positively shivered. They were sensitive, Dean realized. No wonder Cas had made a sound like that earlier today. Regret mixed with reverence as Dean began to thread his fingers through the silky plumage.

At first glance the wings looked perfect and unmarred, but upon closer inspection, and with the added sensation of touch, Dean saw they were scarred. Most were invisible under the feathers, but as his fingers ran over the ridges of the wings he could feel a few raised lines, some dips—the same as any that marked Dean's own body. There were even one or two patches near the base where short down didn’t cover the marks that could have been made by anything from claws to a angel blade. Some didn’t look that old. Maybe spectral fire couldn’t break them, but something could.

The thought made that feeling from earlier that day well up inside him again, the mix of guilt, fear and pain. He knew what those feelings were usually symptoms of, but he couldn’t even begin to think such things, let alone say them.

Dean pressed a quick kiss to the first crook in the right wing. Cas leaned heavily into him, forehead resting on Dean’s shoulder, increasingly shallow breaths ghosting onto his chest as Dean’s fingers continued to work through the plumage. Cas moved his wings into Dean’s ministrations. One pressed forward as Dean cupped his palm over the raised curve of his folded wing and once again Dean was reminded that this was _Cas_ , all of him, alive and wanting Dean. He buried his hands in feathers until Cas took control again. It was all for the best as Dean’s pants were getting tight and Cas was nearly rutting against his thigh.

The wings turned forward, as they had that afternoon, and around Deans body, pulling him down to Castiel’s hungry lips. They _were_ strong, and nimble. Dean was pretty sure his brain short circuited, and Cas was going to ruin him for the rest of his life because it was never going to be as good as this with anyone else.

Dean backed them towards the bed, trying to lean them back gracefully when Cas’ calves hit the mattress but they lost balance for a moment and Cas’ wings flared out to try and regain it, knocking the lamp off the bedside table. Dean snickered into the angel’s chest once they were settled.

Dean lifted himself up onto all fours so he could remove the last bits of clothing that remained between them. It was past due for it to go. Once he was successful he took a moment to look down at the body sprawled beneath him. _Cas_ lay beneath him, naked and open, two mighty wings spread out on the bed, darker against his pale skin.

Cas pulled his face back to his lips and Dean kissed him slowly for just a moment as he rubbed his calloused hands over the angel’s chest, his ribs and his stomach. If Castiel already knew his body then Dean had some catching up to do. With and open mouthed kiss to Cas’ curved shoulder, Dean gave up on reaching that goal tonight because he couldn’t wait any longer.

He stroked his hand down Cas’ stomach to cup his hardened cock, head already wet with precome. Castiel arched into him, pulling Dean down with one wing pressed into his back to bring their lips back together. The dexterity of his wings kept surprising the hunter. It was almost like Cas had four arms instead of two. It was not a bad thing at all.

Dean pulled back just a touch so their breaths still mingled in the space between.

“Tell me what you want, angel face,” Dean whispered, half serious, half making what he thought was a witty joke.

He didn’t know what he’d expected to hear, if he was saying the words out of habit or if it was something he actually needed to hear, but of course Cas wouldn’t answer like just anyone.

“ _Dean_ ,” he moaned, pressing their bare chests together, grinding up into Dean’s hand. “Dean… I want you, Dean… just you… _Dean, just you, please…_ ”

He felt his breath catch, Cas’ filling the empty space in his mouth, because those words didn’t go straight to his groin but instead made it feel like someone had severely reduced the size of his chest cavity so his heart was being pressed on from all sides. Any hope of pretending this was just to resolve the sexual tension between them flew out the window as Dean’s body jump started and he kissed Cas deeply.

Then he pulled away, to incoherent protests and light feathered restraints curling over his back.

“I’ll just be a second,” Dean said quickly. “Just a sec…”

In less than thirty seconds, Dean was back with a tube of lube that he’d recovered from his duffle. He quickly squeezed a good amount onto his fingers and lowered his hand, finding Cas’ hole. He drew two fingers slowly over and around the tight ring of muscle.

Dean pressed a few kissed to Cas’ chest.

“Mmm… you’re gonna have to relax, Cas,” Dean murmured into his skin.

Dean heard the ruffle of feathers and felt Castiel’s chest rise and fall deliberately against his lips. After a few more soothing motions Dean slipped one digit in, pausing when he felt Cas tense around him.

“Shh…” Dean said soothingly, sucking on one of Cas’ nipples, making the angel clench his fingers where they were resting on his ribs. The other hand had come up to tightly close over the raised scar on Dean’s arm. Right where it belongs, Dean caught himself thinking.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel chastised. “It’s just… new.”

Dean smiled against his skin. No patronizing the angel, Dean noted and slipped his finger in further until it was fully inside. Cas wiggled under him and Dean pressed a calming kiss to his temple. Then Dean slid his finger almost all the way out and then back in, and then again. After a minute or so of this Cas began to loosen up and rock into the motions, breath coming in short bursts again.

Dean added a second finger and watched Cas’ face scrunch up for just a second of discomfort at the intrusion before it relaxed again. This time, when Castiel began to move up and down into his fingers, Dean crooked them, searching for that magic spot. He knew the second he found it.

Cas’ eyes snapped open and a desperate sound breached his lips.

“ _Dean!”_ he nearly shouted, hips trying to roll himself back down onto Dean’s fingers. “Dean, please… _Dean…”_

This was fucking gold. If Dean had the opportunity to get all those lottery tickets he’d won and lost a couple years back, or see Cas like this one time, he’d throw the tickets into the goddamn ocean.

Cas was _riding_ his fingers. His chest was flushed and his bobbing cock was leaving a wet patch on his taut stomach. His wings were fluttering helplessly, shivering every once in a while so every feather puffed up and shook, making the light bounce off of them. Dean buried his free hand in them as he added third finger.

There was a near unbroken stream of perfectly unholy noises coming out of Cas by this point, so much so that Dean thought he might have to charge their next door neighbors for the show they were probably getting. Dean was so hard he ached.

Cas protested when he removed his fingers but Dean silenced him with a wet kiss. Castiel licked up into his mouth—fucking hell, even his _kisses_ were trusting.

Dean slicked up his own cock, hissing a little bit at the touch of the cool lube and lined himself up with Cas. His palm cupped Castiel’s cheek, making sure this was okay. Once fevered glance from those blue eyes was all the encouragement Dean needed. He very slowly pushed himself inside Cas.

Cas’ spine curved and his wings spread out to their full span, frozen and tense for a moment, but then his body relaxed and his feathers lay flat. Dean on the other hand stayed tensed, every line in his body resisting the urge to slam home and fill the angel completely and abruptly. Castiel kissed at his jaw line and tight neck.

“Dean, _please_ … move,” Cas begged, and who was Dean to deny him?

With another slow push Dean buried himself to the base.

Castiel was tight and hot, almost too much, and Dean’s breath turned ragged against the angel’s neck. Castiel’s free hand, the one that wasn’t still fused to the scar on his arm, ran up and down Dean’s side, and when the hunter began to move, smooth, curved wing points pressed into his back, urging him on. Dean felt feathers rub against his the backs of his legs.

“Dean… Dean… _Dean_ ,” Cas repeated over and over as the hunter thrust into him.

Castiel’s wings were curved up and around Dean so the ridges of the graceful appendages were well within Dean’s reach. Remembering the way the angel shivered when the hunter had touched them, he leaned on one elbow and buried his fingers in feathers, and lowered his head to press a line of nipping kisses along the curve. Cas thrashed beneath him, the wing that wasn’t pinned by Dean flared out, knocking the alarm clock off the table to join the lamp on the floor.

Dean’s spine tingled as the feathers brushed is face, his lips, his tongue. If heat and light were smells, Dean decided, that’s what Castiel’s wings and body smelled like.

Then Dean shifted the angle of his hips and suddenly the sounds coming out of Cas devolved into incoherency as Dean pounded into his sweet spot over and over.

Dean started to feel his orgasm curling in his abdomen, a fire so much better than any other he’d seen today, so he reached between them to wrap his hand around Castiel’s leaking cock, rubbing his thumb over the slit. He left one hand twisted in the angel’s wing and felt Cas’ free wing wrap press against his lower back, now damp with sweat, as he moaned into Deans touch.

“ _Cas…_ Cas, yes. Mother of god… _fuck, fuck, fuck…!_ ” the words started tripping off of Dean’s lips.

Worried about what they might turn into, Dean smothered his voice with Castiel’s mouth. After only a few more strokes, Castiel’s rhythm was faltering and his thrust up into Dean’s hand became sporadic. Dean let his head hang just above Castiel lips as the angel started chanting Dean’s name over and over, more and more desperate, each repetition pushing Dean closer, too.

“Dean _… Dean… **Dean… DEAN**!” _ Castiel shouted and came in Dean’s hand.

He threw his head back and his eyes screwed tightly shut, spit slicked lips parted. His wings _froze_ as his orgasm shot through him, every feather trembling, creating a hushed rustling noise under Cas’ moan. Castiel’s body clamped down on Dean as his muscles convulsed.

It was more than too much for Dean and he buried his face in Castiel’s neck as he came harder than he could remember coming in his life. His orgasm burned through him, from the crown of his head, to the tips of his toes as spilled shot after shot deep into Cas’ body.

Dean came out of the white, blissful haze his world had momentarily become to the feeling of feathers deliberately tracing over his back, like tender trailing fingers. Dean let out a small moan as he gently pulled out of Cas, feeling the feathers on his back twitch in response, and then looked up to see dark blue eyes watching him. Dean smiled lazily.

“Dean, I think I like sex,” Cas said simply, voice deep and rough, his feathers still running slowly up and down Dean’s spine.

Dean laughed softly, feeling the sticky mess between them when he shifted. Getting up was the last thing Dean wanted to do right now but the discomfort would only get worse. He was trapped by hands and wings again as he moved to rise.

“I just am going to get something to clean us up,” Dean said at Cas’ disapproving glare.

There was a little rushing noise and the slippery discomfort disappeared.

Dean laughed once more and rolled them over, careful of Castiel’s wings, so the angel was laying on Dean’s chest. He’d already given up on the idea of this being a onetime thing—if anything Dean just wanted more of Cas, all of him… so he figured if he was going to go for something that crazy he certainly wasn’t going to let go of the angel just yet. And if Cas’ reactions were anything to go by he doubted the angel would let him go if he tried.

The silky dark wings drooped limply onto the bedspread around them, and Cas seemed to be reluctant to put them away now that they were out. Dean was certainly not complaining. Castiel’s cheek lay in the space where Deans’ shoulder met neck, wild hair brushing Dean’s ear.

Dean had one arm thrown around the angel’s waist and the other lay over the base of his left wing, thumb rubbing absently over the soft, downy feathers.

“Hey, Cas… thanks for saving me,” Dean finally said, and if the angel noticed that Dean didn’t specify the events of that day he didn’t comment.

He simply seemed to sink deeper into Dean’s embrace.

“Of course, Dean… always.”


End file.
